Inadequate
by Yayuchan67
Summary: "There was something about sharing the chore routine, living space and bed of someone, which lead to inevitable familiarity." Draco learnt it the hard way as a Veela bonded to his old school nemesis. As long as he did not break his heart in the process...


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of its plot or characters. Don't remind me of it, it's painful enough not having a Draco to chain to a theoretical basement. *smiles like her cat when she strokes under his chin***

**Warning: -This story is SLASH, meaning a homosexual relationship. In this case it is between Harry and Draco. **

**Don't read if it offends you. The M is here for a reason, possible lemon in the second chapter if I have the guts.**

**-Postwar story with spoilers up to tome7, EWE.**

**-It also is a bonded-against-their-will veela fic. I already know how many there are out there, but I have been meaning to write one for ages. I have tried not to copy anyone and to make it as original as I could, but my first objective was to have fun writing it, and I certainly did!**

"Malfoy."

It was more of a grunt than a greeting, really. And it was certainly not the kind of greeting that he would have expected, in his early _relatively_ innocent years, to hear from his bonded mate one day.

But then again, he _was_ bonded to one Harry Potter, so he guessed he should have given up on the expectations a long time ago. Not that he should complain, really. The Gryffindor had been his one-way ticket out of the hell faced by the rest of his ex-Death Eater 'friends'. His name had been cleared. Most of his fortune had been restored, as least the part that he had not been _heavily_ convinced to donate to Post-War themed charity. Even then, Potter was quite rich enough for the two of them. Moreover, he now had the possibility of being with a good-looking bloke, without the family obligations of continuing the Malfoy line.

The last had been a dream he had never even dared to cherish before. There it was, all of it seemingly laid out on a silver platter for him, like a cunning Slytherin plan that came to fruition.

Except that, it was not.

Fate was the one to be blamed, or thanked – it depended on your point of view – for the brilliant turn of events. Or, if you wanted to be more precise and less romantic, it was his DNA. Those muggle enthusiasts had such weird sounding terms in their so-called 'science'!

But the clinical detachment of the discipline had often been his solace from the whirlpool of his conflicting emotions. The diagnosis had fallen. He had come into Veela inheritance, a trait that had skipped the last few generations, and had rapidly proceeded to identify Potter as his mate. So much for the '_toujours pur__'_ bullshit…

He had been as surprised as the rest. He was utterly revolted at the prospect of a lifetime with the git-who-simply-would-not-die. More concerning, however, was his certainty of being rejected by said git. He would not die on the spot of a broken heart, no matter how sweet Pansy had said that sounded in her Veela stories. He would lose his magical power bit by bit, and to a magical creature that meant losing his life force. It was a slow and painful process. According to the Malfoy library, the last registered case of rejected Veela had resisted the unbearable longing for a little past fifteen years before succumbing.

Despite the simply _brilliant_ prospect ahead, Draco adamantly refused to let Potter know. Not after all those years of loathing and passionate insults and fights. His inner Veela had to be a masochist. A very twisted one. It had been a while since he had heard from Potter. He bitterly thought that the Saviour was too preoccupied by his every move making the Prophet headlines, and his every smile winning the Witch Weekly's contest. If asked about the bitterness, he would deny with an insincerity befitting of his name, the same way he would about having ever read an issue of the accursed Witch Weekly.

He had thus planned to more or less forget about the entire thing and wait until the symptoms were too severe to neglect. He might then perhaps consider seeking out Potter. If only!

Of course, her mother would have none of it. Narcissa had decided that enough had already been lost by pride, after the death of Lucius. It was evidently not feasible to let Potter live his life in blissful ignorance, especially now that his marrying Miss Weasley was bound to happen eventually. She had smiled sweetly at her son and given him the comfort he needed, while the house elf was already posting the Official Demand to Potter.

Her devotion to her husband and her own ideals had led her to follow him with the Dark Lord and had rarely before let it shine out; Widow Narcissa Malfoy was quite an intelligent woman. She was not about to forget that the Potter boy back then would have died a swift death without her lie to her Lord. This meant than she could evoke the ancient magic of a Wizarding Debt.

She had cunningly added a few well-chosen words to guilt the Hero into saving Draco's life. Indeed, her sweet smile had held rather more satisfaction than actual compassion for her son. She was grateful that he was not in any right state to notice it.

At the time, Potter had casually dismissed it as a bad joke. It was easy to forget sometimes how little he knew about the Wizarding world. Damn those Dursleys!

As it so happened, the Weasel had unexpectedly not forgone all knowledge of Pureblood tradition. He recognised, aghast, that nothing could be done. His whole family had gone mad, especially the Weaselette. It appeared that she had been going out with _Draco's_ mate. As if he had not sneered enough at the photos of the couple in the Witch Weekly magazines that he never read. He could at least be smug about thwarting their happy, overly saccharine plans. Said magazine, and the press in general had had a field day once the news had leaked. More like a field season. Even that… Granger had utilised the entirety of the phenomenal grey cells, hidden behind equally phenomenal bushy hair, to try and find a way around. In the end, a debt was a debt, and not even Saint Potter could be exempt it from it.

Draco had thrown a spectacular, but dignified, tantrum at his mother's interference. Many family heirlooms had met a sudden and tragic end at the hands of his _confringo_ charms and a few darker versions. It was more agreeable to temporarily overlook the fact that the Malfoy house elves could repair them at a snap of their fingers. After the crisis, it came down to Slytherin also being opportunists. He would never admit it, but he knew a good thing for him when he saw one and he had given in.

And so they were bonded. Potter, the git, did not even have the good grace to hide his blatant unwillingness. It was a good thing that they had been able to rein in Narcissa's plans of grand parties and Prophet photographs. The new Mr Harry Potter-Malfoy could not summon anything on his face but a scowl during the whole ceremony.

It had been a long time, now. The first few months had been impossible. They clashed for every little thing. Their various and imaginative attempts to murder each other had resulted in many discreet visits to a personal healer at St. Mungo's. A particularly memorable one had involved Draco having a hand turned inside out for trying to burn one of those horridly coarse Weasley jumpers. Potter's instinctive magic was a bitch. Draco had been half-surprised and half-amused at the beautifully intricate anatomy of a hand. Of course, a Malfoy hand had to be as perfect as the rest of him, down to the pulsing arch arteries and lumbrical muscles. The healers had been dumbfounded but Potter was lucky that they found a remedy. Else, the Gryffindor's itching boils of self-replenishing green stinging and foul-smelling pus would have stung something much more _vicious_. As it is, they had lasted a good 17 days and the marks were still visible after a year.

The bonded couple lived in a Wizarding London house built in neutral ground, away from the dark memories of the Malfoy Mansion or of 12, Grimmauld Place. Between the forced proximity and intimacy required to fulfil the bond and Draco's Veela instinct, they had managed to cohabit in some semblance of peace. They had also learnt about each other. There was something about sharing the chore routine, living space and bed of someone, which lead to inevitable familiarity.

Sex was still a hazy, hushed and obligatory affair. At least now they could somewhat trust each other not to purposefully hurt them during it. Draco cautiously hid his admiration of his bond mate's tanned, Quidditch-toned body and enjoyed feeling the brunet inside him as much as he loved pounding into his clenching heat. His inner Veela revelled in the keening moans and obscenities that he wrenched out of Harry's mouth before shutting him up with up with his tongue.

His inner Slytherin gloried more in pleasuring Harry till he came, because he knew exactly how embarrassed Harry still was about liking this, especially coming from his old school nemesis. He remembered how Harry had flushed from head to toe the first time he had been so lost in pleasure that he had come inside Draco. The struggle going on in his head was apparent on his face as his eyes were stuck against his will to the slow tickle of whitish liquid down Draco's thighs. That expression was the last drop for the over-stimulated blond; he had come spectacularly…

Draco was quite disgruntled at the palpable contentment of his Veela instinct about their arrangement. It made him responsive to his mate, and he would be lying if he said that he was not reasonably content at having him near. The git was likable too, though he would as soon admit it as proclaim opening a nursery for future Hufflepuffs. It was not that Draco had suddenly changed. Nor had Harry. They had simply gotten used to each other and generally steered clear of each other's business to lessen the probabilities of starting a fight.

They had separate jobs anyway, and only saw each other in the evening. When one of them had guests, such as Narcissa or the Weasley tribe, the other would surreptitiously disappear from the background. It was practical and effective, and they could pretend that the other did not exist until the necessary sex sessions. Draco had never entertained any silly notion of everlasting love anyway.

He had sadly underestimated his Veela.

"Good evening Potter, how was your day?" he found himself answering before he could hold back the concern from his voice. Merlin, he was the stereotype of the good housewitch greeting her husband home! Could he fall any lower?

At first, he was met by a dubious silence. And eyebrows that threatened to disappear in a messy black hairline, once Draco raised his eyes from his tome. Hopefully, Harry had accepted to get rid of those revolting round glasses, or it would have been too hard to stop the laughter bubbling in Draco's stomach. In a true Malfoy heir fashion, the blond managed to keep a blank face.

" It was fine, no one gawked at my scar today," Harry finally mumbled. " Um… thanks." It had been quite a shocking revelation to Draco that the Saviour did not actually enjoy his fame. He sometimes regretted the old Hogwarts days when he could believe him to be every bit of a pompous attention-seeking, rule-bending poster boy. On the other hand, the current Potter was someone that he could respect a little, except for his taste in jumpers and friends.

"Listen Malfoy, I meant to ask you something." Draco was cut off from his pleasant reminiscing. "Andromeda called to say she wasn't free this weekend and if it would be alright to have Teddy over."

"Well, you know I don't much mind him, Potter, as long as he keeps his tiny hands away from the library or my potions laboratory." Harry held back a snort. He had spied on the two of them once. He knew that Draco did more than "not mind" having his little cousin around. He _had_ heard them laughing over Wizarding fairy tales in the very sacred library itself. Only, he could not mention that now. He badly needed that favour.

"Well the thing is, I've got that dinner with the guys on Saturday night and I don't know at what time I'll come back…" Harry continued. "Could you please watch over him for me? That is… Um, if you don't have any plans, of course…"

Draco sent him a penetrating glance, and replied in clipped tones, "I _do_ have other plans, Potter." How he loved to watch the Scarhead squirm!

"Oh, well then… I'll… Um…" Draco's feelings had been gradually changing. He knew it, but tried not to think about it. He could not help putting an end to the stuttering and threading of distracted fingers through that nest of hair. Who would have thought that he would one day have grown to find the gesture endearing?

"I am visiting Mother this weekend. If you can trust us not to influence the precious godson of the Light away from the right path…" Draco drawled on in a slightly softer tone and with an upwards twitch at the corner of his lips, "I suppose that it would not be too much trouble for her to have him over as well."

Harry answered him with a similar smile of his own, "Yeah, I don't think Andromeda will mind. Thanks Malfoy!"

Indeed, after Malfoy Senior's demise, Narcissa had begun a tentative acquaintance with her estranged elder sister. It looked like they were carefully dancing around each other with steps know only to those old Purebloods. It still could not completely hide the rekindled caring that they had for each other.

With this, he left to make himself a sandwich at the kitchen. He also left Draco fighting down the butterflies in his stomach, and wondering about the effect of that tiny smile on Potter's dimpled face. He vowed to avoid Indian chutney for a few days. It was doing weird things to his stomach, he decided, and when off to his room.

The weekend had been uneventful. Harry had gone off to his disgracefully Gryffindor friends, and Draco had left for the Manor with Teddy in tow. He had first to witness the unending embrace and recommendations between godfather and godson. The moment seemed precious and Draco felt like an intruder in his own home.

He did not think about it for the rest of the evening. He was fully preoccupied by an energetic toddler who changed the colour of his hair faster than he talked. Under the appearance of the doting great-aunt, Narcissa had also drawn a lot of his energy by her sharp inquiries to her son's well-being and knowing looks. Later that evening, he tucked his cousin in the bed of one of the many empty guest rooms. The child had claimed to absolutely want to read his favourite fairy tale before going to sleep, but he was already dozing off. Draco had promised to get it back from his house before he woke up. He went to his sitting room to read by the fire and enjoy a glass of Odgen's finest firewhisky. When he could not concentrate anymore, he carefully set his book down and thought again about that moment.

He knew that Harry loved kids, and he had probably wanted a family of his own. Draco could not blame him after what he had reluctantly told him about his childhood at the Dursleys. At the same time, having a picture-perfect representation of the closely knitted family dangling above his nose all the time, in the form of the Weasleys, must have worsened the yearning. Yet, here he was, stuck with Draco till death doth them part. Draco was beginning to feel miserably inadequate. He looked up from the burning embers to the ornate sculpted grandfather clock. It was getting very late. He had better go and get Teddy's book before he was too drunk to apparate.

He arrived in the library with a discrete _pop_. He immediately found the book, but was intrigued by the lights seeming to come from the living room. Had he not well operated Harry's muggle switch off? He was still getting used to that strange electrical system of his. He set off to check, but was stilled by the sound of muffled voices.

He peered cautiously into the living room using a quiet spell that allowed him to see and hear the room's occupants.

It was Harry and the Weaselette. A quite drunk Weaselette, he might add. She was flushed and giggling, sprawled over Harry while the latter, still with his coat on, was clumsily trying to direct her to the sofa. Draco felt his insides clench painfully.

"C'mon Gin, you're not helping me one bit! I can't apparate you home in that state" he heard Harry say with a voice that was thankfully more controlled.

"Hihihi –_hips_ – then let me stay here _Harrrrrrrry_! Oh I'm surprised! I thought Malfoy would have –_hips_ – decorated it all dark and groom, um gloomy! Hihihi!"

"You'd be surprised! If anything, Draco has good taste." Draco nearly gasped at hearing Harry say his given name.

"Oooooh but he haaaas, 'cuz he chose you init? –_hips_ – And you're the handsam, um, handsomest ever!" She gave a pout, which doubtless should have been cute. In her current state, Draco just thought it looked like an ugly grimace. Or maybe that was his jealous Veela thinking.

He saw Harry start, and hesitate before saying, "Just stay here, will you? I'll get you a glass of sobriety potion and I'll take you home."

But the ginger bitch clung to his pant leg. "Nooo, Harry stay with me! –_hips_ – It's really not fair, that evil bastid, um, bastard Mal-Malfoy gets to have you all –_hips_ –all the time! I can't believe you left me for him…" Tears started to gather in her pretty brown eyes and Harry turned back with a great sigh.

"You know I wanted none of it, Gin. I didn't have the choice! Even if I'd been heartless enough to let him die, there was that life-debt." Harry was looking straight into the chocolate pools, his resolve crumbling.

"Wasn't I–_hips_ – wasn't I good enough for you? I can't believe you could pref-praf- like that scum better…"

Harry clumsily hugged the Weaselette. "Of course you were, Gin, I loved you. I can't even compare the two of you, you were always so soft and warm and lovely… I didn't want this Gin, but now it's different, I…"

He was cut off by the bint trying to sloppily kiss him. Draco was burning with rage, every particle of his body wanting to rush forwards and punch the redhead. Harry reluctantly pulled her away, and set her down on the sofa. "I'll just – I'll just get your potion Gin." And he went towards the bathroom, leaving Ginny already snoring on _his_ designer sofa.

No matter how indecorous she was, Draco had to admit that she was a beautiful woman, and every bit of the homely, brave, spirited Gryffindor that Harry needed. He had seen enough. He interrupted the spell, tried to calm his revolted Veela instincts, and apparated off.

_To be continued…_

_Tadam! So how did you guys like it? I know that I still have a pending translation, and I'm sorry for being so late. I'm in the middle of exams right now, but that idea simply would not let me concentrate till I got it out. It was done in just two days, so I would appreciate if you could point out any mistakes._

_Oh and I do not intend to do any real Ginny-bashing. You'll see =}_

_Lots of love, thanks for reading, and see you in a week or two!_

_~Yayuchan._


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